A new poem by Wellington poet Emma Shi.

021

you were my vodafone bestmate in 2009. i don’t think it cost more than $10 a month to send you unlimited texts and calls. i had a purple flip phone and you had a nokia smartphone. our favourite singer was mariah carey and we played her whistle notes through our tinny speakers.

you were braver than me because you knew how to use the microwave room. i ate my lunch cold and never put my hand up in class. we created a spot in the library between two bookshelves and called it our hiding space. we would sit there cross-legged and you would brief me about all the newest technology. when you introduced me to bebo, i moved around the icons in my profile so that you were my top friend. it was important.

in between lessons, i texted you like a tether. whenever my name got called in class, i stuttered. i looked at everyone’s faces and they all seemed like they were waiting for someone, and i hoped it wasn’t me. on the days you weren’t at school, i sat amongst the dewey decimals and tried not to count what was left. i started writing you a list of reasons. i memorised your phone number before i memorised my own.

on the day of your leaving party, i straightened my hair. i sat at the dining table with puffs of steam and turned my curls into fresh static. my dad dropped me off at the big mall, and we brought along our backpacks and snuck in hot chips and lollies to the movie. while you were still in the air, halfway to your new home, i cancelled my phone plan. i went to school the next day and i went to the library and i sat in the space. i sat in the space. that weekend, i returned the hair straightener back to briscoes and my mother told the lady at the counter that it was broken. i have only ever been curly since then.

The Friday Poem is edited by Chris Tse. Submissions are currently closed but will be open again soon.